The Cell
by Nakoon
Summary: After escaping one prison, sam and Quorra find themselves in another.  They must learn to live and survive with only one thing left in the world, each other.  My first fan fiction.
1. Chapter 1

The Cell

"Alan, you're acting like I'm going to find him sitting at work, just, "Hey, kiddo, lost track of time."  
"Wouldn't that be something…"

"You know Jules Verne?"

"Sure."

"What's he like?"

"Out there… is our destiny!"

"She's the miracle man…"

"What's it like?"

"I've never had to describe it before…"

"He's my Son!"

"Dad!"

"What do we do now Sam…?"

Rattling around, trickling through, all the voice are so close together they melt into one, spinning around his head, pulling his concentration apart, fraying it, fracturing it, de-rezzing the very essence of it. But always he manages to breathe it out and take back control, because her question is always the last thing he hears before he wakes. "What are we going to do now Sam?" He wonders. He thinks. He wakes.

"And I kept dreaming of a world I thought I'd never see. And then, one day..."

"We got out." Sam looked up from the desk, for even the slight difference in the telling rings clear in his ears. His eyes had slowly dropped away from her face and down to the cold metal their hands were lying on. But now he was alert once again.

"Yeah… we got out," he whispered.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"How long do I have to stay in here?" Sam sat up straight in his chair and rubbed his eyes fitfully. His anger, which he had managed to keep under control for the last hour suddenly boiled to the forefront of his thoughts. This was not what he had intended. This was not the way it was supposed to be. Alan had told him the company would want to look at her, study her, but it wasn't supposed to be this way. This was his company. He knew he should have kept her away from them.

"I don't know," he said softly, and breathed slow and deep until he was back under control. He couldn't show his panic, he knew he had to remain strong, for him, and especially for her. He had to remain rational. His father had said she was the key to everything, the miracle. Maybe he had to give the world a little more time to study her. She was impatient to be let out, he could tell, but she was withholding her desire to be free because he had asked her. He had asked her and she trusted him. A twinge of guilt pinched at his side.

"But it won't be long. I'll get you out. I promise." Quorra smiled at him, her wide, crooked smile, so large it almost didn't fit onto her slim face.

"Good," she said softly and looked down to the cold surface her hands were resting upon. "This place reminds me of my world. It's… cold. Not like the sun." Sam knew that she was just learning to judge things based off of feeling. How could you tell when something was hot or cold? You just knew, it was intuition, understanding that could not be imparted on a spoken level. And he was still helping to teach her this feeling. She was a good student.

"No, nothing like the sun," he agreed, and stared long and hard around the tiny, barren cell walls, the single one way mirror placed on the far wall, the glowing light above their heads. This was a cage, and he knew Quorra longed to break free. But she was remaining there because she knew she had to, because he said she had to, because there were rules in this world she just didn't understand. He wanted to see her out and free, like it had been those first few days, the warm light of day lighting her pale skin. In here it was cold, empty, and to her… familiar. And he wanted her as far away from that as possible.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" His eyelids drooped. She always said his name the same when she asked a question, hesitant, almost like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to ask. He had made sure to make her come to an understanding the first night she had been freed.

"You can ask questions. Anything you want, I'll answer, if I can. It's ok."

"OK." She still asked the same way, even after he had told her. But he didn't mind it, he actually liked the way his plain name sounded when she said it. From her lips, it sounded different, more pure.

"Never mind…"

"No, what is it?" He leaned in closer so he could better hear her soft voice. She curled her legs up under her like a cat, cross legged on the padded chair and gave him a quick smile.

"You're tired. I can ask later."

"No please… ask."

"You need your sleep. Please. Allow me to ask later? …Ok?" He smiled, something about the way she talked always made him smile.

"You getting sleep in here? I mean, is it comfortable? Because I can ask the guards…"

"Everything is perfect Sam."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. Good night." She smiled expectantly at him, and gave a small nod to the door. He rose and pushed his chair back carefully. Stretching to his full height, he stifled a yawn and looked across the table at her and returned the smile.

"Ok. I'll be…"

"In the other room. I know." She looked to the door and turned her head on its side as she considered him.

"Why don't you go home? I'm sure your sleeping arrangements are much more comfortable there." He grinned again, touched by her selflessness. He knew she hated to be in here alone, especially when she knew she was truly alone and he was elsewhere.

"I am home."

"But you live by the pier."

"The pier is where I live. But people… people are home. And you're… all I've got now." He could tell she had another question to ask about this, but was holding back. He reached a hand out and very softly touched hers lying flat on the table. Her own hand stirred at his touch and she turned her palm up so she could trace the creases in his skin. She always wanted to feel his palms, hers were smooth and unblemished while his were pitted and scarred. She entwined her fingers briefly with his, and then placed her palm flat on the cold metal, almost like she needed to feel it. She was used to the cold. She turned her head to the door again.

"Sleep Sam. I'm not going anywhere." He cleared his throat and then stepped back and felt behind him for the door.

"Ok. Good night… Quorra." He hesitated as he spoke her name, as he always did. Maybe it was how he expected it to sound, foreign and exotic. But it always sounded right after he'd heard it. Just a small miracle. Quorra ran her finger past her sleek hair and copied his hesitation.

"Good night… Sam." She smiled as she said it, always cheerful and then let out her laugh, the unique little giggle that showed off her dazzling white teeth. He paused, unable to step back, but he urged him backwards with another shake of her head. He turned the knob on the handle and stepped out of the ENCOM holding cell and slowly let the door close, leaving her inside alone. She was still smiling as he closed the door. He did not have to see to know that as soon as the barrier swung shut, that smile had faded. He stood alone in the hallway outside and slowly rested his head on the door. Three weeks he had been doing this. There had to be a change. He turned from the door at a noise to the side and he found he was not alone in the hallway.

"Late night Sam. How's our girl doing?" Sam frowned at Alan.

"She's stir crazy, I can tell, even if she won't tell me. We have to get her out of there. Even if it's just a few hours."

"You know the board won't like that."

"To hell with the board! She trusts me and all that's gotten her is a spot in a jail cell smaller than the one she just escaped from. Something has to change Alan." Bradley stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Something will. I Promise."

"What are you going to do?"

"Can you wait another twenty four hours?"

"I've been waiting for twenty years for something to happen Alan."

"So you can?"

"Sure. But it'll be harder than you think." Alan looked sideways to the unremarkable door that held the truly remarkable woman behind it. He cleared his throat, hesitant, almost like her.

"She's not… not like anyone I've ever met before," Alan murmured. Sam smiled.

"She's a miracle. I don't think any other word describes her as well."


	2. Chapter 2

2: The Beach

"Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"I want to show you something."

"A sunrise?"

"Better."

"Are we allowed?"

"We're allowed to do anything we want."

"Anything? But there are rules, you told me…"

"Quorra."

"…Sam?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Good." She took his hand and he slowly applied pressure, pulling her away from the seat. Her hand brushed the cold metal, held on for a fraction of a second longer than her mind, and then she pulled away, subconsciously freed from the coldness of her prison.

"There are guards?"

"Alan took care of them."

"Mr. Bradley? But he was adamant I remain. So he has removed himself from the equation?"

"For our sakes, yes."

"You mean a lot to him? Mean a lot," she repeated, as if the words didn't sound quite right.

"I… I guess." He didn't know what else to say to this question. He had never thought it over before. How much did he mean to Alan Bradley? The man had stepped in after his father had disappeared, taken it upon himself to see some guidance brought down on the headstrong young boy his oldest friend had left behind. Sam paused for a moment at the door, reflecting on it. What had he said to Alan, right before he had left? It had been something like "I appreciate you playing the foster parent before, but can we pick these meeting up in you know… another ten years?" He couldn't quite pull it together.

"Sam?" He realized he had stopped in the doorway, one foot in, one foot out. Quorra's smooth hand was still gripped in his, and at her inquiry, he snapped out of his reflection and guided her along.

"I'm fine. Really," he murmured softly as he saw her eyebrows come together, concerned. He smiled at the look on her face, and she tentatively reflected the look back.

"Come on. We don't have much time."

On the back of the motorcycle, Sam was quiet. Quorra sensed that his mind was elsewhere and did not press him with questions. He wouldn't have minded, he never minded when she asked him things, he found wonder in the fact that she found wonder, it refreshed him, seeing such delight on her face. Delight seldom appeared in this world anymore and he was glad to have a constant source of it.

He felt her arms shift around his chest and knew she was looking up at the moon. She loved to look at the moon, almost as much as the sun. It intrigued her. He felt the weight of her head on his shoulder as she lay it down carefully.

"Amazing," she had whispered the first time she saw it, "and yet you tell me is a negative part of the system, yes?"

"Well, not negative. It's just, sort of a bad omen."

"Bad omen?"

"Well on a full moon, like this one… people just get superstitious."  
"On the grid, there was only one omen… when we saw a blackguard, we knew to run." He had quieted as she said this. He did not want to be reminded, but he wanted her to get it out, to talk freely about what she had seen and experienced. And as much as he hated hearing it, he knew it would be the only way both of them could move on.

"Well… there are dangers in this world too. But not as bad as that, at least not here."

"Good. I'm glad. I feel saferer."

"Saferer?"

"Yes. Knowing there are not as many dangers as in my world."

"That's technically not a word."

"I already felt safer. When you just told me made me feel even more."

"Why did you feel safer?"

"I am with you." She said it in such a simple way, as if it was strange he did not understand.

"You feel safe with me?" he muttered softly. She frowned. He hated it when she frowned. Her lips weren't made for it.

"Of course."

He stopped the bike and dismounted. Quorra slipped off behind him and turned her head quizzically at the boom and crash in the near distance.

"Sound familiar?" He asked. She nodded and almost eagerly stepped past him, heading for the nearby bluff.

"It sounds like…" she grasped his fingers tightly in her own, he could feel the excitement buzzing through her, "an ocean," she whispered as they crested the hill and looked out into the darkness of the open sea, stretching on into near oblivion, as far as the eye could see, as distant as the mind could stretch. Quorra closed her eyes and slowly raised her arms and spread them out to the side, like she was flying, and a breeze swept over her face and stirred her dark hair. She breathed in deeply and laughed her laugh, she opened her mouth and breathed in the salt that rushed up to meet them. Sam could not help but share in her energy, it was part of the reason he so enjoyed being with her.

"Like the sea… the sea of simulation," she murmured, and opened her eyes. "An immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life…" she whispered and Sam instinctively knew the words to finish.

"Stirring on all sides." Quorra smiled a dazzling smile at this.

"You read it, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Jules Verne!"

"I had to. How could I spend time with you and not brush up on him?" She could only smile harder and he could not hold back any longer. He laughed. She dragged him down to the sand, walked in her heels, ignored the pull from the sand as they sunk deep into the wet grains. She just wanted to reach the shore. She knelt at its side and put her hand down, let the cold, shifting sea slide through her fingers like she wanted to capture it. And all the while she was smiling. Sam stood at her side, looking out over into the distance, almost like he could see his father, feel his father, out there. He felt his smile flicker, but looked quickly down to Quorra to bring it back. They did not speak for some time, he just watched her enjoy the sea. He felt a warmth on his face, his eyes no longer had to strain to see her pale face. She did not seem to notice

"Quorra," he murmured when he could resist no longer. She looked up to him and for the first time, noticed the first rays of the breaking sun, shining over the distant hilltops. The golden rays shot out, illuminating all in their path, casting a shining, flickering sheen over the darkness of the water. It was illuminated for only a moment in complete silence, a silence of life bleeding back into the world, or hope springing up from the oblivion. Quorra stepped back so she could see both at the same time, the light from the hills, the darkness of the water, shining and blending together in a million patterns that had no end or containment. He stepped back with her and watched as well, felt the heat pouring in, and he close his eyes looking out into the sea. His father was out there somewhere, watching him, watching them.

"He's closer than we think, just over the edge I think," Quorra murmured, reading his thoughts. She had a way of doing that. He turned to look at her, standing in the wet sand, shaking with pent up nerves threatening to burst free. Her eyes had never been wider. He reached a hand out, offered it palm up. She took it carefully and he stepped back to her side so they could watch it together, the unfolding of their own private miracle, the miracle he had missed so many days until he had met her. He felt one of her hands tighten in his own and with her other she had gripped the hood of his jacket, stepping slightly behind him as if to shield herself from the strength of the growing sun. And he knew she was smiling, he could just feel it in the way she was breathing. She leaned her chin down onto his shoulder, the same as she had done on the motorcycle, in free and unbroken peace. He felt himself slip into it too and he titled his head sideways into hers so they touched.

"How did you know this would happen?" she whispered.

"It happens every day. Most people are just too blind to see it."

"Their eyes don't see it?"

"Oh they see it, but they don't understand it, not like you do."

"But I don't. There's so much I don't know." He smiled and closed his eyes, felt the cold spray and the warm rays.

"You know more than I do. You're the teacher now."

"What am I teaching you?"

"How to live again." Quorra tilted her head and looked sideways at him. He turned his head to meet her eyes.

"I'm not teaching you."

"No?"

"I'm reminding you. We never stop living Sam, that's what your father told me." Sam smiled.

"Smart man."

"The smartest. I can feel him out there, he's waiting for us to do something, something great," she whispered.

"I can feel him too," he whispered, copying her. She giggled at this.

"I know." Sam turned in the sand to look up to the sun, and lifted one arm to wrap around her shoulders. They walked down the beach, one eye to the light, the other to the dark, sandwiched right between. He felt Quorra bouncing at his side as she glanced from shell to shell caught in the sand. Sam looked back out to the water a final time and nodded his final farewell, a mere dip of the head, something from both of them.

"Good-bye dad." He looked to the woman next to him. "And thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

3: The Pier

His phone rang. Not many people had his number, so he knew who it was before he even answered.

"Alan?"

"Sam, they know. They're on their way now."

"How did they find us? You said you scrambled the tracker they put on Quorra."

"Well apparently Dillinger suspected you weren't one hundred percent with him in the decision. He had a secondary tracker prepped. She's been taking it in through the food she's been eating."

"How long do we have?"

"Not long, I just got out of a meeting, I was pulled in before I could contact you. I think they must have known I helped you." Sam swallowed hard but remained calmly stationary. He turned slowly in place to look down the beach to where Quorra was seated on the rough sand, her now bare feet trailing in the flowing tide of the cold sea. He did not want to worry her, he did not want to give any indication that anything was wrong.

"Alright then," he muttered, "I'll have to come up with something to buy us some more time." He looked out across the water and his eyes were drawn to a single point resting out over the water, a long dark line, rimmed with bright lights that instantly drew his attention. He smiled.

"Sam," Alan started to protest, "I don't think it would be smart to hide…"

"I'm not hiding Alan. I'm going to stand in plain sight." He hung up the phone quickly before the other man could say a word of protest. He tucked the phone away and walked the short distance from the bench to the shore and quickly sat at Quorra's side as she turned to look up at him.

"That was Mr. Bradley."

"Yes."

"Are we in trouble?" He knew he could not lie to her, firstly because she would be able to catch him in it in a moment, and secondly because he could not bring himself to hide anything from a person who depended on him so completely. Trust was the one thing that mattered between them. So he didn't lie.

"Not yet," he said with a quick smile and plucked his shoes from the sand. He reached a hand down to Quorra who was looking up at him with the same wide eyed excitement as always. She gripped his and he pulled her carefully to her feet and nodded for her to take her shoes. She had lost several pairs in the first few days, not being accustomed to having to remove them all the time.

"Let's go," he muttered and pulled her along with him, heading for the long dark line stretched out over the water.

"What is that?" Quorra said at his side, bouncing over the sand with him.

"A pier." She bounded and hopped through the sand with such gusto and excitement he could not help but copy her. His stride became more bouncy and open, free. He rather enjoyed the release of custom, the freedom to do what he wished when he wanted to, ever since his return he had dedicated himself to being a better, more reliable person, but he could not deny that rebellion was built into him, hardwired, infused.

"Just like your father," Quorra had told him.

"Why are there so many people here?" Quorra asked him as they skipped over the rumbling wooden planks of the wide pier. The deck was bustling with people and crammed with multicolored tents touting art and piece of sculpture and pottery. There was a general air of happiness and unbound energy floating throughout the crowd and he smiled as a distant chime of music danced across his ears, the notes far between, but close enough to tantalize and capture his attention. He tried to remember the name of the tune.

"Must be some sort of celebration," he muttered. He had been pulling Quorra along with him thus far, dragging her along by her hand, but now it was her turn to pull him along. She was surprisingly strong and agile and she darted through the thronging crowd more easily than he did.

"Look," she whispered, awed as she finally reached the edge of the pier and stared down into the crashing surf, billowing and broiling against the struts that supported the long structure. The sea spray washed over Sam as he stood with her, one hand clutching hers, the other resting on the wooden rail.

"It's like I could stand here forever," she murmured, looking down into the dark depths, "so many colors…" Sam smiled at her and then chanced a quick glance over his shoulder to see if there was any sign of the approaching security party he knew was close. Her head snapped up as something caught her interest. She dragged him along, excited into the crowd.

"Wait… what…?" he managed to blurt out, but she was moving too quickly. As they slid and slipped through the rows and ranks of brightly colored strangers, the sound of music grew ever louder and louder. He managed to glimpse a wide stage situated at the end of the pier between the sea of shirts and faces, and he knew that this was what had caught Quorra's attention. A massive red banner was strung across two vertical columns, a message imprinted on the front in white letters shimmered in the sea breeze.

"Twenty third annual New Heights Overnight Festival of the Arts." The melody grew louder and louder, echoing across the surf and Quorra pulled him closer and closer to the center of the energy and volume. At last, they broke free and stood on the fringe of a wide bunch of waiting observers, all looking to the stage to where the band was playing. Quorra closed her eyes as the music swam over her, and her mouth opened almost as if she was trying to taste the rhythm.

"Music… your father taught me as much of this as he could. This tune… I am not familiar with…" Sam looked up to the band, the wild and ragged ensemble cast of misfits and smiled as they continued on. The tune was not overly fast, a slow, calm rhythm that lent itself to dancing. Sam stood straighter, looking into the crowd at the rows of dancing couples, at the rows of wide and smiling faces that all seemed so calm, serene and oblivious. He wished he could let himself go that completely, but he couldn't. He looked over his shoulder again, scanning the crowd for any kind of disturbance.

"Nothing yet," Quorra whispered to him and he turned back to find her smiling at him. She looked eagerly at the dancing crowd and turned her head to regard the sign strung out over their heads.

"An overnight festival of the arts," she whispered.

"Must be about over, all of the tents are being taken down." Quorra's eyes danced between the pairs of dancers, all of which were slowly circling and spinning around the open dance floor.

"Come on," she muttered quickly. He looked down at her, surprised.

"You dance?" She gave him a wide, innocent, and slightly confused smile.

"Of course. Don't you?" He shrugged, slightly uncomfortable.

"Not in a long while." Quorra offered her hand to him this time and took a step backwards towards the floor.

"Come on Sam." He could not protest, there was no arguing with the look on her face. He let out a sigh, but accepted her smooth hand and let her guide him fluidly onto the floor. He was tense, watchful of any approaching pursuers, watchful of the other people, of everything around him. His movement were stiff, wooden, and even as Quorra smiled at him, he found that his matched grin did not stretch all the way up to his eyes. She guided him into the crowd, slipped in easily, more easily than he had ever been able to. She was a natural.

At last, finally breaking the silence between them, Quorra turned her head to its side and considered the downward turn of his mouth.

"Your frowning."

"No."

"You don't enjoy this? Am I a bad dancer?" she asked, worried. He smiled and gripped her hand more tightly in his own.

"Your fine. Great, actually, a natural." The smile returned to her face.

"You seem like one as well."

"Really?" he asked, looking down at his own footwork. "I've never been complimented on my dancing." Quorra stepped back a pace, pulling him further into the crowd.

"You are, inside. But your steps are like wood, hard. You have to be fluid, easy, relaxed, like this," she murmured and performed a perfect spin in place without releasing the pressure on his hand. Sam furrowed his eyebrows at this and continued to spin around with her amid the flashing colors.

"Fluid?"

"Flowing, like a river," she smiled. "Dancing is like freedom, the idea we can do whatever we want and there are no rules, there are no boundaries. We're here," she whispered, pulling him along smoothly, "but we're everywhere else. Our minds can wander, because we're free, no one is really watching even if they're looking. Only you know what you're going to do next. You just have to forget."

"Forget?"

"Everything else," she giggled and performed another spin in place, sliding in close to his arm. He looked down at her, paused in motion and he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"My father taught you this?"

"He showed me the steps, I made my own meaning. He was like you, he needed to understand."

"Understand what?" Quorra unbound herself from his arm and then pulled in close so her chin was against his chest. She closed her eyes.

"That sometimes… we just have to let go. Let go of everything. No worry." Slowly she stepped away and he relaxed his grip on her hand, let his nerves lay flat and let himself go. Nothing else mattered at this moment, because he was here, with her, and the music was playing and he was free. Nothing else was important, nothing in the present, past or future. His legs loosened and he found he no longer had a weight on his back, he was freed. The tightness in his muscles had faded away, he unraveled and fell into line with Quorra's lean, dancing figure. Quorra smiled as he stepped in line with her and they slipped and slid through the crowd, now at his direction.

"Well," he whispered, "I think you can see there is a lot in my world you understand better than I do."

"No," she whispered back, sliding in close again, and for the first time resting herself fully against his arm and side, "you understand. You just sometimes forget. I see happiness everywhere here Sam, even in the smallest places. I'm content with it. You don't have to worry, you don't have to feel guilty. I feel free, it doesn't matter where I am."

"Even in that cell?" he asked, confused. Quorra eased him backwards and he found that he had unintentionally guided them to the edge of the floor and that they were once again resting against the balcony, looking out over the sea.

"Even in the cell," she answered.

"You're not just there because I want you to be, are you?" Quorra looked perplexed now.

"Of course that's why I'm there. You want me to be there, because I can help you, all of you," She lay her head flat on his chest, and though she had done it before, he had never felt quite this close to her before. He slowly raised his hand and placed it on the small of her back, holding them steady against the rail and the sea at their backs. "I'll stay in that cell as long as you want me to," she said, and he knew she was completely serious. It saddened him, and yet, he felt a stronger, even larger emotion slip over, one a good deal more powerful. "We're the same. You're all I have as well Sam Flynn," she said. They stood in silence for a few moments, just staring at one another.

"You lost a father," he said at last, "just like I did." Quorra closed her eyes, and with a thrill of shock, he found that she was crying, a single, very real tear was forming in the corner of her eye.

"I know he's still out there, I can feel him. But I can't talk to him, and that makes me… sad," she admitted, still looking down at the wetness on her finger.

"He loved you. I know that," Sam said quietly. Quorra considered this.

"I didn't really understand what love was when he told me," she said, "I pretended I did, but I never really knew. He said I probably wouldn't, because it was something that couldn't be described, just felt. I think I know what it is now, I think I loved him Sam, I think." She reached a hand up to her face and brushed away at the tear, and her face lit up in surprise as she felt it, felt the proof. Sam did not know what to say all at once, he had never been a deep speaker, one who had a way with words. He had never heard this kind of emotion in her voice before, a hard, husky tone of grief. For all her innocence and curiosity, Quorra was hard, controlled and strong, he had never even though about her crying. And he realized now, grief wasn't a loss of control, it was an acknowledgment that your control was never complete. You could never fully understand yourself, so grief was bravery, an acceptance. He knew that this was probably the most vulnerable he would ever find her. So he thought over what he would say.

"I loved him too. You spent so much more time with him than I did, you knew him better than any. So you know what he would say, if he saw us now, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, regaining control. "He would say… live in the moment…"

"... never in the past and future, because we can't go there… yet." Sam finished. Quorra quieted and shifted even closer into him and he hugged her tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes the same as her, and rested his chin on her dark hair, and they waited there for a last moment on the rim of the present, still in the now.

"Mr. Flynn!" He heard calls from behind him.

"Can I ask you a question?" Quorra whispered.

"You know you don't have to ask," he whispered back.

"Why is your sky blue?" He smiled and closed his eyes as he felt the footfalls on the deck behind him.

"Because that's the way we see it I guess."


	4. Chapter 4

4: The Doorway

"Sam will you kiss me?" The question came as such a shock to him, he did not at first respond, and seeing as she received no answer, she repeated the question.

"Will you?" She sounded hopeful, her wide eyes lit up brighter as she said it. He was rooted in the doorway, looking back at her, waiting on the other side of the cell, one pale hand resting on the table he had just left.

"I… I don't think…" And what did he think of it? What would she think of it? She knew what kissing was, he had described it once to her… the simplest, most pure form and expression of affection the human mind could come up with, such a slight physical contact that was completely perfect because it requires such a closeness and trust between the two people. A kiss, a true kiss, was an expression of love, a different kind of love.

"I just… want to know, what it feel like…" she said, somewhat embarrassed, and she lowered her eyes to look at the tabletop, and her face reddened slightly. He was still frozen, wondering what to do. His silence made both of them uncomfortable.

He had to look forward to the future, that was what he had promised himself when he got back after his father had passed. He had to look forward, plan, see where his actions would lead him. And as much as he… yes, as much as he wanted to step forward and kiss her, he had to admit, he had no idea where it would go. He knew Quorra was now capable of understanding that kind of love, but he did not know if she was ready for it. And he didn't know if he was either. He looked at her, standing there in her spotless white outfit, her hands rigid at her side, her black hair swept across her face, as she lowered it to obscure her embarrassment. Her hand shook slightly on the table. He still made no move. She looked scared.

He had to look forward to the future… where were they going to be then? What were they going to be? What were they right now?

"I know I loved your father Sam… but not in the way… not how…" she stopped, still not looking up. Sam slowly slid his feet around so he was facing her, one hand still on the door.

"Not how I love you," she said at last. She looked up at him finally, and her eyes were as wide as he had ever seen them, terrified, and at the same time, full of hope. Did she understand what she was saying? Did he? He bit down hard, and finally avoided her doe eyes and sighed.

"I'm sorry… I can't," he murmured at last. Quorra looked crestfallen. "It just isn't…" he was going to say right, but the expression in her eyes made him stop, it held him, transfixed. But why wasn't it right? She was a person, so was he, why were they not capable of making a connection, of feeling something real? But were they? He closed his eyes and breathed out hard. After another moment, another lifetime, he took a step forward and let the doorway close behind him. The room was silent as they stood facing one another. Slowly, he raised his hand, palm up, offering it to her, just like a man would in a film or a movie, a gesture at once romantic, yet at the same time… weary, like he was asking for her to make a choice.

Quorra slowly stepped forward and accepted his hand, taking it softly in her own. He drew his arm back, pulling her hand with him and she stepped forward so they were face to face, no more than six inches apart. And again, he hesitated. Where would it all go? What did this mean if he kissed her? She looked up at him, waiting, her eyes peering up at him like softly. What should he do? What did…

"Sam, if you're not comfortable, I don't have to know what it…" Quorra started to say, slowly moving back, but at the last second, he caught her with his other hand, looped it around her waist and drew her in, close, so close she let out a gasp or surprise. He ran a hand through her hair and brushed it from her eyes so he could see her clear.

"Yes you do. And so do I," he whispered and then he lifted a hand, cupped her chin and turned it at an angle so he could lower his lips gently to hers. Her lips were hard at first, as she had never had to repeat the motion, but gradually, moment by moment, she melted into him as he kissed her tenderly. He thought to pull away after a moment, but suddenly realized his hand had unconsciously wrapped itself around her back, and that that he no longer wanted to step away. He tilted his head and kissed her harder, passionately, and he heard a sigh in her throat as he did it, and she closed her eyes as he brought her into an embrace.

How long it lasted, he had no idea, all he knew what that it was heaven, and he was unlocked, no longer unsure, no longer afraid. It didn't matter where it would go, because right now, at this moment, he knew he loved her, and he knew she loved him. He felt her stiff arms at her side slowly relax and they slid up his back, pulling her in tightly to him and he did the same, squeezing her in so tightly they felt like one.

"I've never felt like that before," she said at last as he pulled away. He smiled.

"Neither have I." He stared into her wide, dark eyes and without thinking, leaned down and placed his lips softly on her forehead and kissed her smooth skin. He inhaled the scent of her hair, so familiar, yet foreign, and he knew at this moment, that he had made the right decision. How? He didn't know, a thousand emotions ran rampant through his head. But he knew.

"What happens now?" she asked him quietly. He didn't know the answer to that either, and he realized it didn't matter. There was no answer to that question.

"I don't know," he admitted. Her eyes widened, almost as if she was panicked. Everything in his world had rules, guidelines that she had to follow. But this… this was something without any borders, no frame, no book to follow. It went wherever they wanted it to go.

"Look," he said slowly, thinking over what he was going to say, knowing she was hanging on every word. "I don't have any way of telling you what I want to happen. But I love you… I can't…" He swallowed. She still looked on edge, barely able to move, stricken. There was something behind her eyes that made him want to stare into them forever. He felt trapped in her eyes, they pleaded for answers and there were none. What else could he do? So he kissed her again, hard and long, just like the first time, this time reaching his hands and pulling her up into his body. He had to do it again. This time was feverish, there was no control to his actions, it was the only way to ease the discomfort in her eyes. There was nothing he could tell her, only show her. His hands pulled her in with such longing, need, he emptied all his emotion out and lay it bear across his lips, and it spread down their bodies like wildfire. It felt perfect, and she acted in the same way he did, without any restraint, he felt her arms pulling herself into him, her legs locking around his waist. Slowly he swung her around and back so that she was seated on the edge of the tabletop and did not stop until his emotional cloud was broken and he was on the verge of losing his control. It was Quorra that pulled away this time and when they had collected themselves, he could see that the look in her eye was gone. She smiled, hesitantly, and then more strongly as he smiled back.

"For good or bad, we're here. We can't chose to not love someone," he said finally. She understood, though she did not yet know how to put it into words. She didn't have to. He could see the emotion in her and that was good enough. All the months of the cage, of being trapped behind bars of ethics and code, it felt liberating to be free to say that he honestly loved this woman, and to honestly not care what that meant for either of them.

"There is no equation," Quorra said softly and he had to agree.

"No, there isn't." She swallowed hard and nodded, looking up at him.

"There will be someone watching?"

"Probably."

"Are we in trouble?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, very seriously. And she shook her head no and smiled again.

"No." She reached a hand up slowly and this time directed him down to her, in control of herself for the first time.

"I wish there was some definition of what I am feeling," she said, her lips inches from his, tantalizingly close. She held it there. He smiled as he saw a twinkle in her eye, deceptive, clever, mesmerizing.

"So do I."


End file.
